Brian Sambourne Poet Free verse

Blue Hole

Pensive tempered thought
          in light morning fog that picks a fight
          as early birds forage for contentment

 My graveyard stroll on pathways
          with sooty traces of wet
          small puddles that smear the ground
                                    like a painter's blotched canvas

I am drawn to dark depths
          to peer into limits
          into a grim hole
swampy centre where blue feathers float on water
a Jay has squeezed its way to risk
          startled, it flees in squabbles
above the damp hard clay in mounds
          earth peaks that blot intrusion
a script waiting
till a quiet peace beckons someone
mourners at the edge
          heads bowed to slacken the ropes of grief

Blue hole
          the end of pathways
tender pause
          breaching boundaries
          of what we cannot snare.







Poem composed: May 29, 2021

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Richard Lamoureux June 24, 2021 at 6:38 AM This is a colourful sadness. Well expressed. It’s interesting what we remember when we re live grief experiences. Brian Sambourne June 24, 2021 at 7:39 PM Hi Richard, Thank you for your insightful comments. There's a local cemetery in which I tend to 2 graves. There was indeed a bird in the new grave hole dug. That image of resurgence from burial hole inspired the piece. Best wishes, Brian

Beryl Edmonds June 6, 2021 at 12:03 PM Well done Brian, a wonderful pensive write. Congratulations on your win… Belle Brian Sambourne June 6, 2021 at 1:22 PM So thoughtful of you to post an affirmative response. Thank you. The Blue Hole is a symbol in my piece - not simply life's final resting place but one of resurrection as the Blue Jay rises from the hole - a release, though it has left feathers behind after taking water. The last line - what we cannot snare: our sorrow at loss? depression? but also our limited understanding of death + the transformation of the soul. Brian

Christuraj Alex June 5, 2021 at 7:40 AM A Beautiful Poem. Congratulations! Brian Sambourne June 5, 2021 at 6:25 PM Hello Christuraj, thank you for your affirmative response. You certainly were tenacious in seeking it out in its minor placement. My appreciation. Best wishes, Brian

Juliet Ligon June 4, 2021 at 10:11 PM Dark, though intriguing take on the contest. I love your line "small puddles that smear the ground like a painter's blotched canvas." Brian Sambourne June 5, 2021 at 5:54 AM Thank you, Juliet. As you note, it's a dark piece + may not garner much attention. However, I appreciate your take on my simile. Unusual comparisons interest me. Best wishes, Brian

Sara Kendrick June 1, 2021 at 6:06 AM Reads like a good contender for the contest. Way to go. It is very descriptive and expressive work. We can't go there until our time and we hope that the other members of family or our friends had made the right choice so that we will meet again to share in life but a totally different life for sure. Thanks for the visits to my page. Sara Brian Sambourne June 1, 2021 at 7:29 AM Hello Sara, Always a treat to read your thoughtful comments. Thank you. Let's pray for that second meeting indeed. Till "our time" we do the best we can, ethically, in making the right choices. Be well. Brian